


The Vampire's Mask

by gudrunsbitch



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Biting, Coercion, Condescension, Emotional Manipulation, Erections, F/M, Hypnosis, Mind Control, Vampires, extremely sexually charged biting, metaphorical rape, nonconsensual biting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gudrunsbitch/pseuds/gudrunsbitch
Summary: Lestat intends to make his latest victim beg for the pleasure of being fed on. She is determined to resist.
Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	The Vampire's Mask

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much based on the scene with the sex workers, and how I imagine it might have gone had Louis not been around

Marie couldn’t believe her luck. She’d managed to snag not only a rich gentleman, but an attractive one, and charming too. A man possessed of all three traits was rarer than gold. Lestat, he had called himself in the same breath that he invited her up to his apartments overlooking the water. She’d grabbed his extended hand in an instant, giddy with wine and good fortune, and leapt into his carriage.

Now it had stopped on one of the fancier streets of the French quarter. Marie peered out the window and gazed at the row of houses standing proudly before her. Their carriage was parked outside one in particular, an elegant new build with bright white shutters and spacious balconies. It was the kind of building that Marie always admired on her way to work in the poorer part of town, and one that she never in a million years expected to be entertained in.

The coachman opened the door, and, dumbstruck, she followed Lestat in and up the winding staircase to his apartment, which took up the whole of the third and fourth floors.

This was luxury incarnate, she thought drinking in her surroundings. An armless conversation settee upholstered with dark red satin sat upon a Persian rug. Oak furniture was dotted about the room, as old as the seventeenth century at least, and on the walls hung portraits reaching even further back into the mists of time. It was like walking into a palace and a museum all at once.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, but Lestat did not respond, instead shutting the door behind her.

“Please, sit.” The click of something that sounded awfully like a lock end-stopped his request. She glanced back over at him but could find no hint of danger in his amiable features. He only smiled and gestured welcomingly to the settee.

Somewhat hesitantly, she perched on the settee and watched him make his way over to the sideboard which housed his alcohol collection. He cut a fine figure in his blue velvet suit with his strong, aquiline features, his blonde curls swept up into an elegant ponytail, and there was an ease in his movement which said he had entertained like this a thousand times before. In truth it disappointed her somewhat to know that this would, in all likelihood, be a one-time affair. She wouldn't normally have entertained settling down with anybody, but something about his open, easy manner had invited in thoughts of building a life together.

Two glasses of sherry were in his hand when he settled next to her, one of which he handed to her and the other he placed on the low coffee table before them without taking a sip. Marie followed suit after taking a large gulp from hers. He clearly wanted to get down to business and, well, she was in no hurry to stop him.

He brushed his hand lightly across her cheek, eliciting a shiver, and stared into her eyes for a long moment. Then, slowly, he leaned in for a kiss. His lips tasted good, almost like rosewater, and they were soft too. She wrapped her arms around him, anticipating an increase of passion that never came. “Do you know what I am, ma chérie?” he asked, pulling away.

Grinning, Marie took his hand from her cheek. “What you are? I think you are a handsome, attractive, irresistible man.” She wrapped her lips around his elegant index finger and began to suck.

His clear blue eyes were pinned on her, clearly enjoying the display. Then he smiled what first seemed to be a wide, toothy smile. It looked wrong, somehow, too big, and his teeth… They weren't like any teeth she had seen before. She realised then that two white fangs gleamed on either side of his incisors.

Lust turned to terror in an instant. Marie scrambled backwards, tumbling from the settee in her panic as she practically threw his fingers from her mouth. She stumbled to the door, half crawling, half running. She had to leave, she had to go _now._

Her hands fumbled their way to the doorknob somehow and she pulled once and again harder. “Please!” She cried to no one in particular when it didn’t yield, but her thoughts were together enough now in her dawning despair to realise that if Lestat had neighbours, they knew, and they did not care. _Nobody will help me._

Inch by inch, almost not daring to look, she turned her head back towards whatever that _thing_ on the settee was. There he sat, his position entirely unchanged, as if he had not noticed her escape attempt, but she could see from the way his smile had transformed itself that he had. He may not be human, but she had seen that smug, self-satisfied smile on enough men’s faces to know he was getting off on this.

“Please,” she repeated, quieter this time, unsure if she was calling for help or speaking to him.

“So, my dear, do you know what I am?”

Dumbly, she shook her head.

He gave a knowing chuckle and finally deigned to rise. She watched him saunter over, listened to the way his boots hit the floor with each step. It was the sound of finality, the slow, casual approach of Death. He stopped only when his feet where an inch away from her curled-up figure on the floor and stood there for a moment, regarding her. Then he crouched so that the two were eye level and slowly, gently, as if gaining the trust of a skittish horse, he lifted her chin.

“Are you really so simple?” He smiled indulgently. “I have been called many names: demon, moroi, strigoi… but I think nowadays I am what you would call a vampire." A pause as he let it sink in. "Come sit with me, please.”

Rising, he extended a hand civilly, but Marie made no movement to take it.

With a sigh, he knelt again, closer this time. “Look at me, pet.”

And without quite knowing why, she did. She looked straight into his deep, piercing stare. When he had first called to her in the tavern, she had noticed how beautiful his eyes were, but now that she was up close it was an entirely different matter. A million shades of blue seemed to swirl amongst each other in those eyes which glowed like full moons, and then her gaze was drawn further in to his impossibly black pupils. If his irises were moons, then these were the night sky in all its vast infinity.

“Come sit with me.” He sounded kinder, sweeter this time, and when he beckoned once more with his hand, she allowed him to help her up. Every bone in her body, her very blood was screaming at her to run, to try the door again, but the honeyed tones of his voice and the dizzying depths of his eyes lingered in her memory and smoothed those feelings away as she followed him.

When they reached the settee, he gently manoeuvred her into a seated position as though she were a rag doll. He placed himself next to her, propped his arm up casually on the back of the seat, and leaned in with all the ease of a close friend stopping by for a chat. “I confess it is a fault of mine, but I have a terrible habit of playing with my food.”

As she lay limp, her awareness began to return and with it a renewed sense of dread at his words. “What satisfaction is there really in quickly taking what I want from somebody I haven't exchanged two words with? Where is the enjoyment?” he continued, leaning in closer so that he was practically whispering in her ear. “I find that true satisfaction lies in being given freely what I could so _easily_ take.” Fear ran down her spine in a shiver. Lestat only laughed.

“I would not give myself to you of my own free will,” replied Marie, her voice shaking.

“No?” He raised a sculpted blonde eyebrow and planted a kiss on her ear. “Then you would be the first.” His tongue traced the shape of her helix. It felt good, physically, she had to admit: the wetness of his tongue and the warmth of his breath, the softness of his touch. Even in death’s house Marie appreciated the irony of it all, that the very seductiveness which first attracted her was now what she must resist at all costs.

She thought about breaking away, but what was the point? He was right about one thing: Marie was not stupid – she knew that he would kill her eventually whether she gave in or not, so she allowed him to press his lips against hers and his tongue to invade her mouth, but for her part she remained still. She would be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of enjoying herself.

“Has it occurred to you, ma chérie, that you are only hurting yourself?” Lestat murmured, inches away from her unmoving lips. Pulling away to look into her eyes, he continued. “That fear you’re feeling, that hatred… I can make it all go away if you let me.” As he spoke, he lifted her skirts and dragged his finger teasingly up her thigh. “I understand you are quite determined not to give me your life, and of course you are far too strong-willed and intelligent to fall for my attempts,” he said mockingly, “but would you not rather die happy?” His finger finally made its way to her clit and began to rub lightly, sending uninvited jolts of pleasure through her body. Much to her dismay, a moan escaped her lips.

Lestat grinned. She wished she could wipe that smug, self-satisfied look off of his face, the one that implied she was behaving exactly how he wanted her too, but another moan came unbidden as Marie threw her head back in pleasure. “No… ohhh….”

Chuckling at her resistance, he pinned her lightly down on the settee with one hand while the other still worked beneath her skirts. He was on top of her now, and suddenly she felt the full weight of his power, flowing from his hand into her and filling her up. Unable to turn her head due to the positioning of her arms, her entire vision was taken up by Him. Thoughts of her doom were replaced by the nearness of his body to hers and the absolute inescapability of that eventual contact. Without thinking, she began to buck her hips. She had no control over her body, which much as she might desire otherwise was beholden to biology, but she was determined that her mind would stay resolute.

“Humans are brought up in the belief that they are the strongest creatures on earth, the masters of nature. Nobody likes to find out that they are inferior.” He lowered himself down so that she could feel his hardness pressing against her stomach through his breeches. “But it is the case, whether you like it or not. You are so much lower than me, a bug in my presence. You would be so much happier if you simply accepted it.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together in determination. His words would not pierce her armour, but then he brought his face to within an inch of hers again and murmured, "you're trying so hard to be strong, but who for? It's only the two of us here in this room. I don't want this to be painful or scary. Let me make it good fo you, hm?"

Suddenly, tears began to spill from her eyes. She had done such a good job of holding it all in, but the pleasure, the nearness of his body, the false concern was too much for her in the face of her imminent demise. It was all so confusing.

“Awww,” Lestat cooed. “Is the little dear crying?”

His sickly-sweet tone only made the tears fall harder. She was still intent on resistance, but she wanted so badly to let him comfort her. He was being so nice to her, so kind, making her feel so good… It was easy to forget that he was laughing at her. How she hated him. But then he gingerly pulled her up onto his lap, and Marie found her hatred slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Poor, sweet little darling. It’s alright, let it all out.” And though it galled her, she did. She buried her wet face in his chest and let the sobs that had built up in her chest tear out and wrack her body, and as she wailed and lamented, he simply held her and rocked her gently.

The slow, calming movements, the softness of his coat, and the warmth of his body all had their effect, and her tears began to subside. As they did, his hand crept back under her skirts and found their way back to her cunt. “Good girl,” he breathed, beginning to rub lightly at her clit.

She clung to him tightly as pleasure took hold once more. Marie tried to remember to resist his seduction, but she found that each time his fingers danced over her clit, another crack appeared in her wall of defence. Her weeping had left her weak, exhausted, and the closeness to another person, especially one who was being so _nice_ to her, was intoxicating.

“Just let the pleasure fill you up. Let it take hold of you.” No longer able to block out his coaxing, her pleasure began to increase, to spread from her core through her body and limbs until her head was thrown back in ecstasy and her muscles were shaking.

“Don’t you want more? Don’t you want to be mine?” he asked, his hand’s work still sending waves of bliss through Marie’s overstimulated body.

She paused her moans. Her mind was fuzzy from the pleasure, but she knew she was being asked to lay her life at his feet. Then again, she would die anyway, and his earlier arguments seemed so much more reasonable now – she _would_ rather die happy in His arms. She still knew that she was only an idle pleasure for him, but he behaved with so much caring towards her that maybe... maybe he did care about her to some extent. Of course he would want her to feel good if it was in his power to do so. It's not like he was trying to hurt her. When she looked at it that way, it seemed that perhaps his kindness was genuine, and now that she had experienced his gentle embrace, she did want more of it. 

“Y…” Marie faltered. “Yes.” The words passed her lips almost of their own accord, and she watched as the corners of his mouth curved upwards cruelly and a dark laugh emerged from it. His mask of sweetness melted away in an instant, as if it had never been.

She tried to bury her face in his coat once more, but he pulled her back sharply. “Look at me.” The order wasn’t particularly necessary though, as he grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. “That fear in your eyes, that regret… _delicious_ ,” he said before laughing again. “Aww do you want to change your mind?” He asked as though talking to a child, his voice positively dripping with condescension. She flushed and tried to look away, unable to withstand the cruel humiliation, but he held her firmly in place. “Stupid little girl. A few kisses and kindly words and you’re ready to die. Sometimes I forget just how easy it is to manipulate humans, how pathetic they are… too pathetic to look unkindly on, really.” His demeanour changed once more: his features softened; that sadistic fire still burned in his eyes, but his expression was sweet and inviting.

“You’re shaking.” He sounded so concerned that, even after everything, Marie would have believed him had a ghost of a smirk not crossed his lips.

“Are you going to kill me now?” She asked, ignoring his observation.

An indulgent chuckle this time. “Yes.” He pressed a light, pacifying kiss to the top of her head. “I do believe I am.”

Tears welled in her eyes yet again, her breath quickening. Panic was overtaking her.

“Shh sh sh,” he admonished as he pressed a slender finger to her lips. “It’s alright my sweet. I’ll take care of you.” His hand snaked around to her scalp and began to massage little circles into it. “Relax, pet. There’s no use getting all worked up, is there? Hm?”

His calming tone and gentle touch worked their magic, and Marie shook her head with a sniff.

“That’s right. Good girl, good girl.” She buried her wet face in his chest and let his words wash over her. “See how nice you feel now, in my arms?”

She nodded, her face still pressed against his chin.

He continued in that smooth voice of his. “Well that’s exactly how you’ll feel when it happens. You’ll be right here in my strong arms, warm, aroused, filled with love for me and so happy to offer yourself up to me.”

As he spoke, she felt his words come true. “Yes…”

While she was lost in reverie, he slowly laid her down on the settee, murmuring sweet nothings. Ghosting his teeth along her neck, he continued. “…giving everything to me… relinquishing your life, your blood, your body all for my consumption.” The hard touch of his teeth was replaced by lips sucking at the tender skin of her neck, eliciting a sigh of pleasure and relief.

Then, **pain**. Before she even had time to react, with his fangs buried in her neck, he had climbed on top of her, pinning her in place as he began to suck. She could feel it, the blood rushing from her veins directly into his wet, hungry mouth, devouring her, _consuming_ her. What surprised Marie, though, was how the pain faded and was replaced by an altogether more pleasant feeling unlike anything else. Her skin, her very veins, seemed to come alive beneath him, aching only for want of more. Her entire self melted away beneath his dominating presence as she was subsumed into his will. Lestat must have felt it too because he gave a gratified moan.

As the blood flowed out of her, the pleasure only grew, but so, too, did the need. She began to rub herself up against his still-hard length, in the hopes that sexual satisfaction might serve in the place of whatever …this was. Ecstasy coursed through her from her neck to her clit as her whole world narrowed to Lestat and the exquisite joy of what he was taking from her. Her awareness began to fade. She could feel Lestat’s strong arms around her, the heat of his body, the wetness of his lips, and the delicious way his erection pressed against her. It was enough to drown in, but just as she was prepared to give herself up to it entirely, the tide of pleasure began to recede, the euphoria becoming fainter, further away. The only thing she could feel with any surety was the blood being drawn from her.

From what seemed like a great distance, Lestat gave a groan of satisfaction. A very faint smile crossed her lips as she thought of how he had filled his appetite at her expense, _on her_.

Then that pleasure that had so consumed her faded away entirely. Though her vision was blurring and blackening at the edges, she could see that he had ceased drinking, and was now watching her with a smug, sated smile, her own blood dripping down his lily-white chin.

He stayed for only a moment, then stood up, dusted himself off, and made his way over to the mirror on the wall and began to adjust his cravat, not seeming to care about what had passed between them… or that Marie was quickly losing her grip on life. Her ears rang, her vision darkened, feeling retreated from her body. She was well past the point of movement or even speech, but, in her mind, she cried out for him to come back, to put on once more that guise of kindly condescension and comfort her in her final moments. _Please…_

And she didn’t know if it was the slight twitch of her hand or if he had somehow heard her mind’s call, but Lestat looked up from his cravat and regarded her through the mirror. He had heard her! He was going to come back! But then his mouth spread into a cruel grin as he held her gaze, and just before her vision faded fully to black, she saw his tongue protrude and lick the blood from his lips.

_Please…_


End file.
